


Respite

by PipMer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Angst, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Fluff, Friendship, Gap Filler, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock knows that he’ll eventually go back to her.  She’s pregnant with his child, after all.  But for now, John is <i>his.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruth0007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruth0007/gifts).



> Months ago I asked my tumblr followers for 221b prompts, and ruth0007 requested a gap filler taking place between Sherlock's shooting and Christmas in HLV. I'm sorry this took so long, but the good news is that a 221b ficlet is now a 663b ficlet. I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to read this as pre-slash, if you'd like. Perhaps even as pining!Sherlock. Or not, whatever you prefer.
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to prettybirdy979 for the quick once-over.

 

 

 

Sherlock knows that he’ll eventually go back to her.  She’s pregnant with his child, after all.  But for now, John is _his._ He sleeps in the bedroom upstairs.  He sits in the chair with the Union Jack pillow as he painstakingly pecks out blog entries on his laptop, or as he nurses a cup of tea during a marathon session of crap telly.  He cooks that thing with peas for Sherlock in their kitchen at least twice a week.   It’s almost as if the last three years never happened; that Sherlock never faked his death, John never got married, and Mary never shot him.  That John never moved out. 

 

But then Sherlock looks at John’s careworn, newly aged face, and the illusion dissipates like a bubble bursting in mid-air.  Sherlock’s never seen him look so defeated, not even back when they first met.  He’s going backwards instead of forwards, and Sherlock can’t help but blame himself.  He should have seen through her façade when he first laid eyes on her.  But he didn’t, and now John is paying the price.

 

He does what he can to make restitution.  He plays John to sleep every night with his compositions.  He takes John out on the most exciting cases he can find.  On John’s fortieth birthday he buys him the seventh season of Doctor Who, and even joins him during one of his marathon viewing sessions.  When John gets fed up with Sherlock shooting holes in the wall, Sherlock actually apologises instead of throwing himself onto the sofa and sulking.

 

The things he’ll do for the person who’s come to mean the world to him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

One week before Christmas, John staggers into the flat, merrily whistling the tune to ‘Hush Little Baby’.   There’s the outline of something in the right back pocket of his jeans, photo-sized.  John absently touches it no less than three times between hanging his jacket on the coat rack, stumbling into the bathroom and finally collapsing onto the sofa.  He’s grinning at Sherlock like it’s already Christmas and he’s received his greatest wish.

 

Sherlock had been under the impression that the Watsons aren’t on speaking terms at the moment, but it’s obvious that John met up with Mary earlier today to have a scan without telling him. 

 

“I’m having a baby,” he declares unnecessarily.  He pulls out the small square envelope and waves it in the air.  “For real.  Proof right here.”  The envelope sails out of his hand and lands on the coffee table. 

 

“Whoops.”  John giggles, and Sherlock wishes that sound wasn’t so endearing.  He’d like an excuse to be annoyed.    But he’s not.  He’s enchanted.  He can’t keep his mouth from curving up into a smile.

 

“I bet ….fifty quid….that you can’t guess the sex.” 

 

“I’ve told you before, John; I never guess.”

 

“Yeah you do.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

John snorts once before tipping over onto his side, passed out cold.   Sherlock gently picks up John’s legs and places them on the sofa, removing his shoes in the process.  He drapes a blanket over John’s body, and places the Union Jack pillow under his head.  Sherlock picks up the small envelope lying on the coffee table and makes his way back to his chair.  He sits there unmoving for twenty-seven minutes, watching his friend sleep and listening to his soft snores.   A rare feeling of contentment settles over him, and he’s only mildly surprised to realise that it has nothing to do with himself.

 

It’s good to see John happy.

 

Sherlock focusses his attention on the unsealed envelope in his hand.  He puts his finger under the flap and raises it, considering.  He didn’t lie when he told John he never guessed; he just failed to mention that he wasn’t above cheating when it served his purpose.  He takes the picture out and studies it, his mouth lifting in a small smile. 

 

Tomorrow he’ll exchange the tiny outfits he purchased for ones more suited for a female baby.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me at pipmer.tumblr.com.


End file.
